


Wholly Incompetent

by TheGreyLady



Category: Harry Potter - Fandom
Genre: Drama, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-27
Updated: 2011-04-16
Packaged: 2017-10-15 18:42:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,250
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/163752
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheGreyLady/pseuds/TheGreyLady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Regulus has a plan which involves the seduction of the obviously shirt-lifting Lucius Malfoy, his cousin and his dignity be damned. This is bigger than any of it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

A/N: I have no idea where this came from. I got the urge to write Regulus, and the plot sprang fully-formed to my mind like Athena from Zeus' forehead. No idea how long this will be, but enjoy while it lasts?

Disclaimer: Everything's property of the lovely Jo Rowling, whose talent I can never hope to match.

Chapter 1

Lucius Malfoy, Regulus knows, is a shirt-lifter.

There is absolutely no denying it. The man is simply too _pretty_ to be a heterosexual, all that long flowing blonde hair and the dainty way he walks with his little stick. The serpent head at the top is a desperate attempt to make it manlier. It is unsuccessful.

Lucius Malfoy was one year graduated from Hogwarts when Regulus was a first year, but while they never attended school together, they did meet on several occasions. Being the heir to the prominent Malfoy family, it was common for Lucius, as well as his parents, to appear at Black family events, and it was just as common for Regulus and Sirius to be forced into their best dress robes and carted off to Malfoy family events.

Regulus recalls his first meeting with Lucius Malfoy. He was ten and Lucius was seventeen, and Regulus walked into the bathroom to find Lucius with his hand up Regulus' cousin's skirt. Narcissa had giggled in a typical girlish fashion — she was only sixteen at the time — and playfully smacked his hand away.

"Reggy," she said, patting his head, "be a dear and keep this quiet from your mum and Auntie Druella, won't you?"

Regulus had nodded, then promptly ran off and told Sirius, who proceeded to tell their aunt, who found Lucius Malfoy and gave him a good, hard slap to the face.

"Sweet little cousin you've got," Lucius had said to Narcissa later, tossing his head in Regulus' direction. "Pity he's the second born."

Regulus had given him a defiant glare, stomped on his foot, and hidden behind his mother.

Now Regulus is seventeen. It has been three months since he became a Death Eater, and already he finds himself hating every inch of it. He's always thought wizard blood to be superior to that of Muggles, was raised to think that way — but rather than inspiring group think, the twisted joy his fellows get from torturing the innocent has made him realize something.

Pureblood supremacy is a load of bullocks, he thinks, and Lord Voldemort is nothing more than a madman with a bit more magical talent than the average bear and the ability to make compelling speeches. He is Grindelwald reborn, except he doesn't hide behind false compassion for Muggles. Regulus' parents have exalted Grindelwald in the past, but Regulus knows one thing: Grindelwald could be defeated, and that means so can Voldemort.

Regulus is in as good a position as anyone else. He is on the inside. He has access to information the Order of the Phoenix can only dream of getting.

But he's going to do this on his own.

Lucius Malfoy is high enough in Voldemort's ranks, and he is, of course, an enormous shirt-lifter. Regulus can see it in Lucius' interactions with his cousin. They are mechanical, forced; they are married not because of love but because of obligation. When they make love, Regulus thinks Lucius imagines a man just to keep his dick hard.

Regulus is going to make Lucius think of _him,_ his cousin and his dignity be damned. This is bigger than any of it.

It starts at the annual Black family Christmas party. Aunt Druella is hosting this year, so while Narcissa is being chatted up about her marriage and her new life at Malfoy Manor, Lucius wanders about, inserting himself into every conversation he can — making connections, Regulus notes approvingly. The man knows what he's doing, but of course, being an heir, he was brought up to act like one.

Regulus snags him eventually, at the drinks table, pouring dark red wine into a bulbous glass.

"Mr. Malfoy," he says, holding out a hand. "I don't know if we've ever been properly introduced."

"More times than I can count," Lucius says in his drawling voice. "I do recall you attended my wedding."

"Yes, yes, and at meetings, but they're much too formal."

Lucius gives him a sharp look. "Watch your tongue, boy. A certain level of discretion is required in our… line of work."

"Of course, of course. But you know, Mr. Malfoy, I've been hoping to get to know you a bit more personally. We relate somewhat, after all, don't we?"

" _Do_ we?" Lucius raised a pale eyebrow. "How do you figure?"

"Well," Regulus said cautiously, "both the heir to a prominent pureblood family… now that dear Sirius has gone the way of the Weasleys, that is."

"Nearly everyone with whom either of us associates is the heir to a prominent pureblood family," Lucius said coolly. "So why don't you tell the truth."

 _Sharp. I like that in a man._ "The truth, is it? The truth is that I find you a particularly intriguing man, I suppose, and do I need a better reason to want to get to know a person?"

"I am twenty-four years old, you know, and you're hardly out of childhood. You're still pubescent, for goodness' sake. Why don't you find someone your own age to knock about with?"

"Like I said," Regulus presses on, "I find you intriguing. I realize, of course, that there is a very good possibility you will find me obnoxious — you seem like the sort to find most anyone obnoxious — but I'll do my best."

Lucius doesn't look convinced.

"We're family now, after all," Regulus says. "We're stuck with each other at these bloody parties for the next thousand or so years. Nice to have someone to talk to whose arse you don't have to kiss, innit?"

"I believe you're doing that already," Lucius says evenly, and Regulus laughs.

"Trust me, if I were kissing your arse, you'd know."

He invites Lucius to dinner at some ritzy place that only serves wizards — one of the last in England that does, and Regulus knows they're among people like his parents, people who think old Voldemort's got the right idea. The thought of it makes him queasy as they're seated, but he tries to hide it and thinks he does a good job. Lucius doesn't seem to notice, in any case.

"Have you been here before?" Regulus asks, glancing over the menu idly.

"Of course. You?"

"First time, actually. I hear good things, though. Recommend anything?"

"They have fabulous pasta here, if you're in that sort of mood, and it's paired with a nice dry white wine. Or if you'd like it a bit heavier, their filet mignon is the best I've ever had."

"A connoisseur, I see. Are you a regular?"

"With the staggering number of Muggle patrons in most wizard-run restaurants, I find myself rather confined to a select few. This is one of them." He gives a small sweep of his hand around the place, the corners of his mouth lifting into an expression of supreme smugness. "Not a Muggle in sight."

"And excellent food, apparently," Regulus adds. "Do you know, I think I _will_ have the filet mignon. You've talked it up, and I'm quite in a steak mood. What wine would you suggest, then? I'm thinking Cabernet."

"A good choice. And to think this is your first time out all on your own. You're doing so well." Lucius' tone is sarcastic, but with the lightest hint of playfulness that lets Regulus know he's moving in the right direction.

"I never said it was my first time at a restaurant," Regulus says defensively. "Though I won't _deny_ it. Have I been obvious?"

"Not entirely. Mostly you're _seventeen,_ after all, and not even finished with school yet. I can't imagine you've had much time to be out and about."

Regulus scowls. "Must you keep bringing up my age as if it's some crippling disease?"

"I hardly think it can be anything but."

"So I take it you were unable to be a functioning human being when you were seventeen as well?"

"Aren't we all?"

"Well," Regulus says, "apparently I'm functioning enough for… the activity we're mutually involved in."

"You're being trained for said activity," Lucius said, a bit sharply. "There's a distinct difference between that and actually doing it. Don't get to thinking you're a hotshot because you've got the Mark."

"Oh, I wasn't thinking that at all. I just think that if I were wholly incompetent, I wouldn't have the Mark at all."

"Unfortunately, we do have some wholly incompetent people among us."

"Make the rest of us look better by comparison, though, don't they?" Regulus grinned. "Some nutters in there too, aren't there. Dear cousin Bellatrix has lost any marbles she ever had. Raving, the woman is. I'm not speaking as a… well, a you-know-what, but as her cousin, so I'm allowed."

"You're toeing a line, and you'd better hold your tongue around He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named. Bellatrix is practically his right hand."

"Oh, really?" Regulus blinks innocently. "I thought _you_ were his right hand."

Lucius stares at him for a good ten seconds before he gives a short bark of laughter. " _Now_ you're kissing my arse."

"Maybe a bit," Regulus replies.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Regulus goes back to school, where he spends his days writing Lucius letters while he pretends to take notes in class and his evenings cavorting about with the other few Slytherins in his year who have been selected by Voldemort. He has a façade to maintain, after all, so he follows them and helps them torment poor first and second years.

Lucius writes back to him, frequently enough, though his replies are occasionally short. Ministry business, he'll say, or duties to what they have recently taken to calling in letters "the book club." It hardly ever fits in context of their conversations, but Regulus was hard-pressed to think of any other clubs in which high society purebloods would partake and which don't involve some sort of rehabilitation.

And so he writes, and he is quite unsettled to discover that he does, in fact, find Lucius Malfoy to be a particularly intriguing man. He is paradoxical in many ways; Regulus knows Lucius is a terrific coward, but somehow he has managed to climb his way up the ranks of the Death Eaters. Perhaps, Regulus thinks, cowardice is what Voldemort looks for in his followers, rather than loyalty. Maybe he can't understand the difference.

Regulus practices Occlumency at every opportunity, for when summer comes and he graduates from Hogwarts, he will become fully indoctrinated into the Death Eaters. He will be in Voldemort's presence constantly. And Voldemort will sniff out his plans in a minute unless Regulus learns to close his mind. He'll be swallowed in a flash of green light before he has time to register the words.

He writes and cavorts and torments and writes and cavorts, and too soon it is June and he is taking his NEWTs and he is boarding the Hogwarts Express for the last time. The other boys in his cabin are being rambunctious as usual, but Regulus can't bring himself to join them. For the first time since formulating his plan, he is really, truly scared.

"All right there, mate?" Nott says, patting him solidly on the shoulder.

"Just fine," he says, mustering a grin. "Bit sad, though, isn't it? We've spent the last seven years here."

"Yeah, but think about it. No more class, no more bloody exams, just fighting the good fight against the Mudbloods, eh?"

"'Course," Regulus says. "Putting our talents to better use and all."

"Exactly! So cheer up, drink and be merry and whatnot, we've got loads of firewhiskey left from what Rosier nicked for the end of term party."

Nott shoves the bottle into his hand, and Regulus takes a swig, fighting the urge to cringe as it burns his throat on the way down.

—

 _Regulus,_

 _A lovely induction ceremony today, wasn't it? Congratulations._

 _Narcissa is raving about having you over for dinner to celebrate, if you're interested. Send an owl back with a time you're available._

 _Lucius_

Regulus stares at the letter, his hands fisting it tightly. An invitation. This is _perfect._ It was initiated by Narcissa, sure, but she didn't send the letter, did she? Lucius wants him for dinner too.

He writes back immediately that he's available any time they are unless it corresponds with an assignment, but he hasn't got any of those yet so if they'll have him tomorrow night or the next he'd love to come. Lucius responds shortly after, saying that tomorrow evening would be perfect, and how is he doing?

 _A bit dazzled,_ Regulus writes back honestly. _I'm starting to feel like I've no idea what I've gotten myself into, but it's a bit exhilarating. How did you feel?_

He waits until midnight for another letter, but it doesn't come until early the next morning, the tapping at his window rousing Regulus from sleep. He opens the window with bleary eyes, taking the letter as the regal bird sticks its leg out.

"We're becoming good friends, aren't we, Aggie," Regulus says, patting its head. Lucius, in a fit of Muggle awareness Regulus would never have expected from him, named his owl Agamemnon, after the famous Mycenaean warrior who supposedly fought at Troy. It's fitting, really; Agamemnon was killed by his scorned wife. Perhaps Regulus will become the Cassandra to Narcissa's Clytemnestra. Without the dying part, of course. "Stay for breakfast, won't you? I'll write a letter for you to take back to Lucius after you've had some toast."

He reads Lucius' letter as he trundles down the stairs, Aggie perched on his shoulder. "'Regulus,'" he begins aloud. "'I imagine it must be quite the individual experience for everyone, being inducted. I was a bit older than you and had a bit more knowledge of what it meant — ' There he goes again, bringing up my age. Aggie, when you go home you should give Lucius a nice bite from me." He goes back to the letter. "'But I'll agree that "dazzled" is a good word. You'll get your bearings soon enough, though, I've faith in you. More faith than a lot of the other overexcited idiots who were inducted with you yesterday, anyway.'" Regulus feels a smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. "'I've been anxious to get you on the other side of a chessboard, I get a feeling you could give me a challenge. Would you mind staying for a while after dinner tomorrow?'"

Regulus is always surprised to see Lucius' signature, small and simple at the bottom corner of the parchment. Before their correspondence Regulus imagined it would be sprawling and ornate, more befitting its owner's flamboyance.

He writes back as he eats, too eager to send his reply. _Lucius,_ it begins, _I do believe that's the first time you've ever complimented me, though it was rather roundabout. I'm all aflutter. Kreacher will have to fetch the smelling salts, I think I shall swoon._

 _Kidding, kidding, of course, I'll leave the swooning to my dear cousin. That reminds me, by the bye; when am I going to be getting a new cousin, eh?_

 _Chess sounds lovely. I've not had anyone to play against in ages, not since Sirius left. (Blood traitor and scoundrel that he is, it must be admitted that he could play chess with the best of them.) All my housemates had the strategic skills of a mountain troll, and since I left Hogwarts I've had no one with whom to associate but the dust bunnies (and Kreacher seems bent on taking those from me as well)._

 _Looking forward to dinner,_

 _Regulus_

After breakfast, Regulus sends Aggie off with his letter and waits in his bedroom for the reply. Lucius is usually quick to answer, and Regulus finds this comforting, evidence of Lucius' interest in him, whether it's purely platonic or not. He's confident it won't remain that way for long.

Indeed, Aggie returns just two hours later, looking a bit hassled. Regulus strokes his head. "I'm sorry, Aggie. Are Lucius and I wearing you out?"

Aggie sticks his leg out petulantly and, as soon as Regulus takes the rolled up letter, flies away to perch on the windowsill.

 _Regulus,_

 _Would you call it a compliment? I suppose it was, wasn't it. I'm slipping. Well, don't expect it to happen often._

 _Your sarcasm is ever so subtle, and as for your potential new cousin, I wouldn't say that's really any of your business. When the 'potential' is dropped, you shall be informed._

 _If you're yearning for companionship, I'm available for the occasional lunch date. I'd hate to think you're going stir crazy and my family-member-whose-arse-I-don't-have-to-kiss-at-parties will be no more._

 _Equally enthused about tomorrow evening,_

 _Lucius_

Regulus laughs and quickly finds a roll of parchment and a quill.

 _Lucius,_

 _I'm quite happy with the rarity of your compliments, they're so much more special when you don't deal them out willy-nilly._

 _Ah, I see. You've been married less than a year and she's stopped letting you shag her. How terrible for you._

' _Yearning for companionship' is an understatement. I'm afraid I don't know your schedule too well, though, so send me an owl whenever you're free?_

 _Waiting on tenterhooks,_

 _Regulus_

The response, shortly after:

 _Regulus,_

 _I refuse to dignify any of that with a response._

 _But I will send you an owl, yes._

 _Lucius_

—

Narcissa isn't much of a cook, so it's good that Malfoy Manor is tended to by a house-elf, a giant-eared thing called Dobby. Regulus is fond of house-elves, and he especially likes Dobby, who seems a tiny bit discontented with his situation, which is more than can be said for any other house-elf Regulus has ever encountered. Lucius and Narcissa, of course, treat him as any pureblood supremacist treats a house-elf, and this is enough to snap Regulus out of the tentative affection he's started to feel for Lucius.

As Regulus picks at his salmon, observes the way Lucius and Narcissa interact. There's hardly any word to describe it besides _formal;_ Regulus doesn't think he's ever seen a married couple so reluctant to touch each other.

Regulus swallows a spoonful of rice and says, to break the silence, "So, Narcissa, Lucius and I were discussing the possibility of little feet and pitter-patters and whatnot in the near future?"

Narcissa stiffens, and Regulus has to try very hard not to laugh. "You were, were you?"

"We certainly weren't," Lucius says, shooting Regulus a glare. "I'm quite sure I remember telling you it was none of your business."

"Details. Awfully evasive, the two of you are."

"If you're implying we're having trouble in that area, I _assure_ you that is not the case," Narcissa snaps.

"Now, now, no need to get shirty, Cissa. I wasn't implying anything of the sort." Regulus pauses, glances back and forth between them. The tension is thick as butter. Regulus suppresses a grin.

"Excellent food, eh?" he says, taking a sip of wine.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

There is something like a smirk in the slight upward turn at the corners of Lucius' mouth, in the way his eyes watch Regulus as his fingers ghost over different pieces on the chessboard. Finally they settle on his knight, moving it forward two spaces and once to the right.

"Interesting," Lucius says, his own hand immediately pushing his rook forward three spaces.

Regulus bites his lip, trying to figure out if Lucius is completely controlling the game or if they're evenly matched. Then again, the fact that he needs to ask the question at all is probably the answer.

"So," Regulus says, not taking his eyes from the board, "Dinner was quite a fascinating affair."

"If you'd like to think of it that way."

He hears the way Lucius' voice quite suddenly takes on a hard edge. He hides a snicker and pushes forward a pawn somewhat arbitrarily.

"And here I thought you could offer me a challenge," Lucius murmurs, then quickly checks his king.

Regulus blinks. "I've no idea how I didn't see that."

"I haven't either. Were you just lying to me all those times you said you were brilliant?"

"Well, I didn't _think_ so. Perhaps your devilish good looks are throwing me off-guard."

Lucius' smile tightened. "Do you think so," he asked flatly.

"Well, it's just a possibility, though I imagine that may be the reason you're so accustomed to winning at chess."

"I assure you that isn't so."

"I'll prove it to you. How about another round?"

"And what will be different this time?"

"This time," Regulus says, setting up the pieces — black on his side, white on Lucius' — "I'll have gotten used to being distracted by you, and it'll hardly be a bother to me. Though I'm almost inclined to ask for a bit of a handicap."

"Oh, honestly," Lucius huffs impatiently, though Regulus thinks he hears a hint of amusement in the older man's voice.

—

Regulus does win this game, and two after it, though then Lucius wins four in a row. They play all night, until the fire is nothing but reddish embers in the fireplace and the sun is beginning to peek over the horizon.

"Goodness," Regulus says, his eyes itching with tiredness. "We seem to have lost track of time."

"Quite." Lucius stands, stretches his arms over his head in what seems to Regulus would be quite an undignified manner if performed by anyone else. Lucius, instead, makes it look catlike, the curve of his spine and the reach of his fingertips impossibly graceful.

Regulus can't bring himself to look away, especially when the tiny _pop_ in Lucius' back pulls a satisfied groan from his throat.

His pants, he notes with some interest (but mostly embarrassment), are getting to be a bit tight. How on Earth. This has never happened before, this very sudden awakening of his libido, not since his early teens brought with them the painful beginnings of puberty. He looks at Lucius, at the way his pale blonde hair shines white in the firelight, and is absolutely disgusted with himself to realize that he is _attracted_ to this man.

He realizes now that it's quite possibly an ideal situation to not have to fake an attraction for Lucius in the future, since doing so could blow his cover. Still, it's disconcerting, to say the least. This wasn't at all part of the plan.

"I suppose we should retire, then?" Regulus suggests, getting to his feet. "I'm suddenly exhausted."

Lucius nods affirmatively. "I'll lead you to a guest bedroom."

"Ah — thank you." Regulus is rather taken aback. Wouldn't this normally be something for a house-elf to do, show guests to their quarters? He tries not to let his shock show on his face, but even if Lucius notices it, he doesn't say anything, just gestures for Regulus to follow him.

Malfoy Manor is sprawling, and it takes nearly five minutes of walking through corridor after winding corridor and up two flights of stairs before Lucius stops in front of a door.

"If you need anything, you may call Dobby," Lucius explained. "And if you wish to bathe, there is of course a washroom off the bedroom."

Regulus nods absently, then lets his fingers trail casually up Lucius' arm, brushing almost lightly enough to tickle. Lucius' face darkens to a sort of beet red that should be desperately unattractive but which Regulus can't think anything less than endearing. He brings his arm back down then so his fingers stroke across Lucius' palms, the tips of his own fingers.

"I'm impressed with your… hospitality," he says, and the note of suggestion in his voice is only there for Lucius if he wants to hear it. "Goodnight then, cousin."

Lucius regards him uncertainly, looking suitably off-balance, then turns the way he came with nothing more than a hasty, mumbled "Goodnight."

Regulus grins, pushes open the door to his temporary quarters, and goes straight to the bathroom. A wank, he thinks, has never been more necessary.

—

"So Dobby," Regulus says as the house-elf brings his breakfast to his room the next morning. "Can I ask you a couple questions?"

"Yes, Master Regulus!" Dobby says, bowing low. "Dobby is happy to answer any of the young master's questions!"

"Yes, yes." The obsequious nature of house-elves grows more and more tiring each time he's confronted with it. He'd like to meet _one,_ someday, who tells him to sit on his wand when he asks a question. "Well, it's about my cousin and Lucius."

Dobby blinks uncertainly. "O-oh?"

"Well. Are they… I mean, you're about all the time, you must know what goes on… in their bedroom."

Suddenly Dobby is banging his head on one of the bedposts and shouting loud enough to wake the dead. "No, no, NO! Dobby cannot tell, Dobby is a good house-elf, Dobby never tells Master's secrets — "

"Secrets?" Regulus asks with interest. He grabs Dobby by the back of the garment he wears, a worn tea cozy. "Now Dobby. If Lucius didn't specifically tell you not to talk about it… well, that's not really telling his secrets, is it? Unless he _did_ order you not to tell."

Dobby is struggling visibly. "Master — Master didn't _order_ Dobby, no…"

"Well then," Regulus says triumphantly. "Go on, Dobby. No reason we can't have a chat, and no one has to know. You're just… making observations, if you will. I've only really one question anyway. Do Lucius and Narcissa — you know — do they… shag?"

"Sh-shag?" Dobby squeaks.

"You know. Have _sex._ Consummate their marriage and all. Have they _ever?_ "

"Dobby — Dobby doesn't know! But Dobby has never… _seen_ anything…"

"Have you ever _heard_ them? Noticed the bed squeaking more than natural? Heard Narcissa moaning in the throes of wild ecstasy?"

"No! Dobby has _never_ — " Dobby pauses, looks as if he's realized that was _not_ the right thing to say, and shouts, "Dobby must shut his ears in the oven now!"

He poofs away. Regulus is quite happy with this development. He takes a bite of eggs cheerfully and starts to plan his next steps.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

A month later, Regulus commits his first murder.

He feels, as he makes his way through the crowd, that he has been to this same festival a hundred times; the same vendors lining the streets, the same people laughing at the same Muggle jokes, the same brightly colored decorations.

And yet, this time, everything is different.

He sends hexes this way and that — nothing the Muggles can't reverse themselves, of course; maintaining his cover doesn't require him to be outright cruel, especially when there's so much chaos that no one is paying him any attention.

"Chaos," he says under his breath and winces. It amazes him that the word can mean such different things. It's a happy chaos, for the moment, but soon, he knows, the screams of delight will turn into screams of terror.

Sure enough, the first hint of realization from the Muggles comes just a few feet from Regulus, when one of his fellow Death Eaters halts the movement of the carousel with a violent jolt. The enormous disc rises into the air, tips one way and then the other, the children crying for their parents and clutching their horses with white fingers.

Regulus' own fingers clench tight around his wand, hidden in his pocket. He can't _do_ anything, but God does he want to — they're just children, for goodness' sake, Muggle or not. But if he helped… if he helped, if blew his cover…

He shakes his head. He _won't_ blow his cover. So he turns away, tries to block the noise.

It's familiar, this feeling of helplessness, and he's used to standing wait while he watches his fellows torment innocent people. Less familiar is the appearance of the Order of the Phoenix.

Regulus has never been on an assignment where the members of the Order came, but he has heard stories. Death Eaters have appeared at meetings with curse injuries they couldn't have healed at St. Mungo's.

Dumbledore is not here, thank Merlin, but Regulus can't imagine they've spared anyone else, there are so many people here. He thinks he sees his brother, inky black hair to his shoulders and a grin that would look just Regulus' if he ever grinned like that.

And there are Sirius' friends, Potter and his girlfriend, Evans or something, and Lupin. They fight back to back, in a circle, protecting each other. Regulus' chest squeezes when he thinks that this, _this_ is Sirius' family, not him, and that Sirius would never defend him like this.

Sirius probably knows that Regulus is here, under one of these masks. Would curse him without a second thought.

Regulus turns around and comes face to face with what looks at first to be a tree standing in the middle of the street but upon further inspection is in fact a man sending hexes toward him. He raises his wand and shields himself on instinct, nearly cowering in terror of the enormous man.

Regulus recognizes him. He can't recall a name — the man is six years his senior and a Gryffindor at that, but he recognizes the sheer _size_ of him.

Regulus wonders if the man would recognize him if he weren't wearing his Death Eater mask, but it wouldn't matter. Mask or not, Regulus is the enemy, and the relentless slew of curses is proof of that.

The spell is at the forefront of his mind before he can stop it — blood soaks suddenly through the front of the man's shirt, and Regulus watches in horror as he falls to his knees.

No one is around. No members of the Order, no Death Eaters.

It takes too long for Regulus to make his legs work, bend onto his knee and roll the man onto his back. So much blood, dear God, _so much_ — he's kneeling in a pool of it, it's staining his hands, his robes.

He gropes for the man's wrist with trembling fingers, searches for a pulse.

He finds none.

"No," he whispers, frantic. He scrambles away from the body in horror. "No, no, I didn't mean to, no, oh God — "

A hand jerks him up by the elbow, and suddenly he is pulled into the crushing familiarity of Apparition.

A split second later, he opens his eyes and sees the sitting room of Malfoy Manor.

"What in _hell?_ " Lucius demands, ripping his mask off his face. Blonde hair falls like a curtain around his shoulders. His face is red, furious. "You win a duel and then stick around to play nurse afterward? Have you gone mad? You're _incredibly_ lucky I saw you and luckier that I'm going to cover for you. Trying to help a member of the Order of the Phoenix is as good as treason in the Death Eaters, do you understand?"

"He was dead," Regulus whispers. "He was dead because I killed him."

Lucius takes a calming breath. "That," he says coolly, "is the general idea."

"The general — killing people? Killing innocent people because — "

"Innocent is hardly the word. If you remember correctly, he was quite as intent on killing _you._ If it helps, think of it as self-defense. But you're going to have to get used to it."

Regulus collapses onto the couch, bringing his legs up under his chin. He feels like a child, helpless and lost and wanting his mother — or, rather, wanting _a_ mother, someone to hold him while he cries. His own mother would never do such a thing.

His stomach churns, his chest clenches. His whole body shakes, but Lucius is still standing across the room, eyes cold, and Regulus can't cry, can't seem weak in front of this man who is weak in every way but this.

Instead Regulus buries his head in his knees and tries with all his might to forget, but it's impossible to expel the images from his head, the grotesqueness of death and blood and fear against a background of happy music and bright colors.

 _I killed someone,_ he thinks, over and over and over again. _I killed someone. I killed someone. There is a person whose name I can't even remember lying in a pool of their own blood on a street in some bloody Muggle town who will never, ever wake up again because I killed him. His family and his friends and his job and everyone who's ever known him, I just took a part of their lives away. I took a father and a husband and a son and a brother. I killed him. I_ killed _him._

He doesn't know how long he's been sitting there, repeating this mantra to himself, when the cushion next to him sinks and an arm winds its way around his shoulder. He doesn't look up; he knows these are Lucius' fingers wrapping tightly around his arm, knows it's Lucius' hair that is tickling the back of his neck.

"The first time is the worst," he murmurs.

"Is that right," Regulus says, his head not leaving his knees. The twinge of pain in his chest at hearing Lucius has killed — more than once, even — makes him feel idiotic. He should have assumed. Lucius is just like the others.

"Not really," Lucius admits. "Perhaps by a very, very tiny fraction. I'm not particularly skilled at this cheering people up business."

"I can tell," Regulus says, then, "I think that's probably the first time I've ever heard you say you're not good at something."

Lucius thumps him on the head. "Brat."

Regulus burrows into Lucius' embrace and hides his face in Lucius' chest, and when the tears finally start to flow from his eyes like water from a cracked dam, Lucius says nothing, just holds him tighter.

—

Lucius takes care of everything, as he promised he would. At the next Death Eater meeting, rather than a scolding Regulus receives only a pat on the pack from some of his fellows and a few "nice going, kid"s. Voldemort looks around at them all in fierce, smug satisfaction, and at the end of the meeting, Regulus leaves without repercussion.

Lucius catches him before he Apparates away. "Come to dinner," he says quietly, leaning close to Regulus.

"All right," Regulus answers, letting Lucius Apparate both of them away.

"Is Cissa here?" he asks, following Lucius into the dining room.

"She's staying with Bellatrix for the night," Lucius replies. Regulus thinks he sees a hint of pink in Lucius' cheeks.

 _He's coming on to me,_ Regulus realizes. He hides a grin. He's been distracted from his plan for days, too caught up in his own self-loathing to think about seducing anyone, but… it is time to take action. And sex with a _very_ attractive man, he thinks, is merely a bonus.


	5. Chapter 5

The key, Regulus decides, is to let Lucius think every moment of this night is initiated by him. Regulus must remain blameless. It cannot appear as though he had any notion of wanting this before it has happened.

So he is patient. Dinner conversation is no more laden with suggestion than usual; the after-dinner chess match results in Regulus’ win, something that has been happening surprisingly often of late.

It is not until Lucius walks Regulus to the guest quarters at nearly two in the morning, as has become his custom, that Lucius finally makes a move.

Regulus, as usual, lingers outside the door, finishing one conversation only to lead into another.

“You still haven’t mentioned anything about new nieces and nephews. And _I’m_ still intensely curious about why ‘Cissa was so defensive about it.”

Lucius looks at him for a long moment, then backs him quickly against the door to the bedroom.

Regulus blink, trying for the most sincerely innocent look he can manage. “Lucius…?”

“This is why,” Lucius says, voice low and almost growling, and he presses his lips to Regulus’.

Regulus allows himself a moment of frozen surprise, to make things more realistic, and then kisses back, threading his fingers in Lucius’ hair.

Lucius Malfoy, truly, is a _phenomenal_ kisser. Regulus takes note of the way soft lips slide with his, the deft tongue that tangles with his own, the way Lucius’ body pressing him against the door makes him feel more safe than trapped. Luciu’s hair is like silk between his fingers, Lucius’ hands gentle as they cup his face.

When they break apart, Regulus’ eyes open and find a truly novel sight. He has never imagined, even when he came up with this plan, that he could reduce Lucius Malfoy to the equivalent of an inexperienced schoolboy, and yet he is red-faced and panting and looks as though he is fighting a grin.

Fascinating.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Regulus murmurs, “would you like to come inside?”

“I would love to,” Lucius breathes.

“All right then, question number two: would you like to come into the bedroom?”

Lucius stares at him for a moment, then laughs. “You are too young to be so well-versed in innuendo.”

“There you go bringing up my age again,” Regulus whispers, leaning up on his toes to let his breath ghost over Lucius’ ear.

“I’ve told you before,” Lucius replies, “that youth is, as you put it, a crippling disease.”

“Well,” Regulus says, pushing open the door and pulling Lucius inside by the hand, “I can promise that this is another thing in which I am far from incompetent.”

“We shall see,” Lucius says and nudges the door closed behind them with his foot.

—

The rest of the night will be remembered by Regulus as a blur. A pleasurable one, certainly, as Lucius is as excellent at sex as he is at kissing, but a blur nonetheless. He remembers only vaguely the burn of being entered, the push and the pull and the shockwaves of pleasure every time Lucius hits that place inside him.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep tucked against Lucius’ chest, but he wakes up early the next morning with his face nestled against bare skin. He presses his lips to the area he can reach, tilting his head up to see a nipple and swiping his tongue over it. Lucius shudders, and a hand in Regulus’ hair tilts his head back. Lucius’ lips find his quickly, then trail down his chin and to his neck.

“This is a nice way to wake up,” Regulus says, biting back a moan as Lucius nips at the skin of his collarbone. "Hey. Hold on for a moment, I want to talk to you."

Lucius pauses, sits up. "Hm?"

"You are married to my cousin."

"...Yes, I'm aware of that, but thank you for reminding me."

"What I mean," Regulus says impatiently, "is that — I just want to know what this is to you. A one-night stand or..."

"...No." Lucius drags his fingers through his white blonde hair. "Unless you want it to be."

Regulus is sent into a fit of giggles he can't seem to hold back. "You look thoroughly undignified right now, it's rather adorable."

"Oh, shut up."

Once he's sobered up, Regulus pushes himself into a sitting position, hands lingering uncertainly in his lap. "It's not a one-night stand to me either. I don't want ‘Cissa to get hurt, though. And I — " Regulus purses his lips. "I don't know how much respect I can have for myself, fooling around with a married man."

"Dear Regulus," Lucius says, stroking the pad of his thumb over Regulus' cheek, "someday, when your mother starts to harass you about marriage, as mine did to me, you will find a pretty trophy wife amongst the ranks of the Death Eaters, probably, or one of their sisters, and you will marry because it is what is expected of you as the heir to the Black family. Do you find yourself attracted in any capacity to women?"

"Not particularly," Regulus says truthfully.

"I trust you will not live a life of celibacy simply for some misplaced morality about marriage. Narcissa is fully aware that our marriage is one of obligation."

Regulus contemplates this for a moment, fingers playing with the hem of the sheets that drape over his lap. He remembers when he was fourteen, listening at his bedroom door as his mother screamed and Sirius screamed right back, because she'd found letters, hidden in a box under his bed, letters that "bordered on pornography," his mother had said, and how could Sirius shame the family by fucking a half-blood, a werewolf, but worst — worst, Remus Lupin was a boy, and the Black family heir could not cavort about in bed with other men.

That was the night Sirius left for good.

Regulus glances up at Lucius. "Is she really?"

"You asked why she got so defensive at dinner. It's not as if we sleep together often. I can't..." Lucius shakes his head. "It's not only me, you know. She's been with other men since we've been married. It's what we have to do. If I can find a way to have my cake and eat it, I'm going to do it."

"You are being shockingly honest this morning. I think I like you post-coital and drowsy." Regulus' fingers stroke over the back of Lucius' hand. "My mother cannot find out about this. Not under any circumstances."

"Do you know, I was just thinking of flooing her to let her know." Lucius rolled his eyes. "Honestly."

“It’s why she threw Sirius out of the house. He got burned off the family tree for being with a man.”

“That’s hardly the only reason. I presume it was the cherry on top of all the other things he’s done to make your mother angry. Besides, it was Lupin, wasn’t it? The half-breed.”

Regulus fights a wince at the term, at the way it rolls off Lucius’ tongue so easily. Remus Lupin, Regulus knows, was one of the few people in the world who could keep any sort of leash on Sirius and his friend Potter, and he was always in the top few students of the class, and he was quiet and bookish and everyone liked him who got a chance to talk to him.

Lucius would never care about anything like that. To Lucius, any werewolf, no matter how kind, will never be more than a “half-breed.”

“Lupin, yes,” Regulus says instead. “Sleeping with a Malfoy is certainly far more acceptable than sleeping with a werewolf. I suppose it’s true that as long as I promise to marry, she wouldn’t be _that_ furious with me.”

“Well, it’s not enough to marry, you’ve got to promise them boatloads of grandchildren to keep them satisfied.” Lucius smirks. “But as long as you manage one brat, you could probably get away with not shagging your wife for the rest of your life.”

“ _Honestly_ ,” Regulus says. “Sex has the strangest effect on you. You realize you’re using _slang_.”

“Was I? I’m terribly sorry, shall I clean up my language?”

“I’m not sure. It’s quite disconcerting, but I think I sort of like it.” Regulus grins. “I wonder if a few more rounds could reduce you to incoherency.”

“I _sincerely_ doubt it,” Lucius replies.

“Yes, but what an interesting experiment it would be, don’t you think?” Regulus doesn’t wait for an answer before he tugs Lucius toward him by the arm, bringing their mouths together once more.


End file.
